


Smoulder

by Felixbug



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Maxson brings the cigar to his lips, and doesn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes dart to it. There’s raw desire there and eager submission – and Maxson wonders why Sam needs this, why Sam needs </i>him,<i> but this works best when they don’t question it. He breathes in slow, deep, growling around the heavy twist of smoke flowing over his tongue and pooling in his lungs. His grip is iron in Sam’s hair, and he hunches forward with a snarl, staring down at Sam’s face as the smoke pours from his lips and clouds the air between them. Sam whimpers through the haze, eyes half closed and lips parted, and Maxson tries not to think </i>beautiful,<i> but once the thought takes hold it’s hard to shake. </i></p>
<p>Borrowing a friend's OC and redemption AU for some shameless porn. Smoking kink and sin, plus a little angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoulder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fethermage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fethermage/gifts).



> Sam Juarez-Hardfish belongs to Goose (fethermage), I'm just borrowing him for sinning purposes. You can see him on their blog [HERE](http://anderfalling.tumblr.com/tagged/sam+tag). Super quick background on these two - Sam joined the Brotherhood briefly but ultimately sided with the Railroad, but saved Maxson on impulse before blowing up the Prydwen. Maxson ended up travelling with him because he had pretty much nowhere else to go, and began gradually unlearning the Brotherhood's shit. At this point him and Sam are having casual sex and Definitely Not Doing Feelings and he's conflicted about pretty much everything.
> 
> This fic contains smoking kink, rough face-fucking, and some mild burnplay.

 It’s complicated with Sam. Shit – complicated doesn’t _start_ to cover it, but right now Sam’s naked on his knees, and complicated doesn’t look half bad like this. The light’s low and the air’s heavy with smoke, and as Maxson exhales slowly another twisting cloud bursts and spirals through the air between them. Languid tendrils catch in the air currents and fade to nothing, and Maxson watches them, and watches Sam, and tries not to groan as a wicked tongue follows the taut line of muscle up his inner thigh. Sam’s red hair is loose and tousled around his face, and his eyes are dark as he glances up through his lashes, licks his full lips, and nips at Maxson’s thigh with a groan.

“You’re frowning.” Sam drags his teeth higher, and his short nails dig into the backs of Maxson’s thighs. They worm between his skin and the battered armchair he’s thrown himself down into. Sam’s hands work higher, and he moans against Maxson’s skin as they find their way to the fullness of his ass, and grip hard. “More than – _nngh_ – more than usual, I mean.”

“Thinking,” Maxson says shortly. He runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, and feels him lean into his touch, the rough stubble of his jaw scratching Maxson’s skin.

“I can help you stop.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, and ducks his head, biting and sucking until Maxson’s squirming and his breath turns harsh and hoarse. Sam’s a mistake or a blessing – he’s the last hopeless shot at redemption, and he’s everything Maxson ever knew and understood going down in flames. He’s a contradiction and he’s conflict and – _fuck,_ he’s good. There’s a hot, wet mouth working over his balls, eager hands gripping his ass, and the thick, hot flavour of smoke coiling in the back of Maxson’s throat. He can worry about what this means later. He tightens his fist in Sam’s hair, and leans back against the chair, breathing hard.

Sam moans against his skin, and the vibration of it leaves Maxson biting his lip. He won’t make a sound – not yet, at least, Sam’s got a way of _getting_ to him in all the best and worst ways – but he knows the shudder in his thick thighs and the way his cock twitches against his stomach is giving him away. He’s aching for more, barely touched and already unravelling.

“Get on with it.” Maxson tugs Sam’s hair, and he doesn’t miss Sam’s breath catching and his grip tightening. He’s got a submissive streak Maxson hadn’t expected from him at first – not that he’d expected any of this – and when Maxson hauls him closer his lips part eagerly, and his breath is quick and shallow and ghosting across Maxson’s cock.

Sam flashes him a wicked grin, and leans in closer. His tongue darts out, following the glistening trail of pre-come up Maxson’s shaft, and it’s all Maxson can do not to gasp. He rolls his head back against the armchair, and brings the cigar to his lips again. The comforting haze of smoke is sweet and thick against his tongue, and he convinces himself – if not Sam – that his low groan is nothing to do with the full lips brushing the slick head of his cock.

“Enjoying yourself?” Sam swirls his tongue and Maxson’s stubborn, but he’s got a limit. He tightens his grip on Sam’s hair with a growl, hips rocking sharply as wet heat sparks raw pleasure in his nerves. “That’s a bad habit, you know.”

“Yeah?” Maxson grunts as Sam’s lips glide tantalisingly over the head of his cock, slow and shallow and not _enough_. “ _You’re_ a bad habit.”

“Mmhmm?”

“And you’re a fucking tease.”

Maxson’s ragged breath sends a descending plume of smoke spilling through the air between them. It coils over his sweat-damp chest, intangible fingers brushing over dark chest hair and following the slight softness of his stomach, to curl and twist and dissipate around Sam’s upturned face. He feels more than hears Sam’s whimper – a needy whine that runs to the tip of his flicking, sweeping tongue and vibrates through his stretched, spit-slick lips.

Sam looks good like this – he looks beyond good, eyes smouldering as he glances up through thick lashes, hair messy and coiled around Maxson’s fist, and his scarred brown skin gleaming in the low light. He’s so hot it _hurts_ , lips glistening as he bobs his head and drool and pre-come trickle over his lower lip and down his chin, mouth stretched wide to fit Maxson’s girth as he slides lower.

“Yeah,” Maxson growls. “ _Fuck_. Keep going – I know you can take it.”

Sam’s chuckle is muffled against Maxson’s cock, but his choked moan is clear enough as Maxson bucks his hips and drives the thick shaft deeper between Sam’s lips. He feels Sam’s tongue twitch and sees his eyes water as he hits the back of his throat – and _fuck_ that’s perfect, and tempting, and it’s a struggle not to bury himself in that hot, tight throat right there and then.

“That’s it.” Maxson gathers Sam’s hair back from his face and lets him move, taking another long, slow drag from his cigar as the smaller man works up and down his length. Sam lets out eager moans with every slow stroke, tongue tracing patterns that leave Maxson’s thighs shaking, and as he sinks lower and the blunt head of Maxson’s cock presses into the slick confines of his throat, he chokes on a whimper.

“You love that, don’t you?” Smoke rolls over Maxson’s lips, curling in his snarl as he rocks his hips and Sam gags, harsh and rasping, and his nails dig into Maxson’s ass. His moan is all the answer Maxson needs, and he looks up at him, skin flushed dark and jaw stretched wide as Maxson pushes further into his throat.

“You want more?” Maxson twists Sam’s hair until he whimpers, and pulls him closer down the throbbing length, watching Sam’s saliva drip over his skin. “Want to choke on it?”

“ _Mm…_ ”

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” Maxson leans forward over him, and feels Sam’s whine as his ass flexes in his grip. He pushes Sam’s head back, watching his eyes widen and groaning at the twitch of his tongue against the underside of his cock.

Sam’s lips look as good stretched around him as he’d always imagined – and _god_ he’d imagined it a lot, before he’d wanted to, before he’d admitted it even to himself. Hell, he thinks he might have wanted this even as he watched the Prydwen smoulder in the distance, even before the questions and the conflict got in him, before Sam got under his skin and made him _think._ Maybe that’s a little fucked up – maybe _he’s_ a little fucked up – but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. It’s hard to unpick the mess in his mind when his pulse is thunder in his ears and his cock is engulfed in the heat and wetness of Sam’s mouth. The smoke billows around Sam’s face again, and that breathless, needy whine vibrates in the tightness of his throat, clenching around Maxson’s throbbing length.

Maxson grunts, and his hips buck sharply. He’s already getting close – almost painfully, a hot flicker of raw sensation that builds in his cock and twists in his gut. He lets himself feel one more thrust and it almost drags him over the edge. He takes in the slow, wet glide of Sam’s throat around his length, the way he gags, moans, and swallows around him. He’s flushed, hair a silky tangle in Maxson’s fist, lips stretched and eyes dark and watering. Maxson drives himself deep, buried in wet, whimpering heat, and Sam’s nose is pressed roughly into coarse hair as Maxson rolls his hips and his balls push against his chin.

Sam’s gasping when Maxson pulls him back, lips parted and connected to Maxson’s length with trailing strands of drool. Maxson watches Sam take deep, shuddering breaths, and his eyes follow the sweep of Sam’s tongue over his lips. They’ll be bruised by the time they’re done – swollen and flushed and dripping with come, and Maxson’s pulse races at the thought. He leans forward, twisting Sam’s hair until he’s arched beneath him, until he yelps and bites his lip, glancing up at Maxson through damp lashes.

Maxson brings the cigar to his lips, and doesn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes dart to it. There’s raw desire there and eager submission – and Maxson wonders why Sam needs this, why Sam needs _him_ , but this works best when they don’t question it. He breathes in slow, deep, growling around the heavy twist of smoke flowing over his tongue and pooling in his lungs. His grip is iron in Sam’s hair, and he hunches forward with a snarl, staring down at Sam’s face as the smoke pours from his lips and clouds the air between them. Sam whimpers through the haze, eyes half closed and lips parted, and Maxson tries not to think _beautiful,_ but once the thought takes hold it’s hard to shake.

“ _Yes,”_ Sam gasps. Maxson leans closer, chasing the final dissolving tendrils of smoke across Sam’s lips. “ _Yes, god yes…_ ”

Maxson smirks, and pins Sam with his stare as he takes another drag, groaning low in his throat as the sweet burn of smoke flows into him. He releases his hold on Sam’s hair to cup his jaw, calloused fingers gripping golden-brown skin and tracing scars and stubble. His touch is firm but gentle – he can be rough when he wants to be, and he _will_ be before they’re through. For now, Sam leans into his touch, and Maxson pulls him up until they’re almost touching, until he can feel the shake in his breath and hear the desperation in his whimper.

He exhales. Slow, steady, a growl rolling in the thick spill of smoke that breaks on Sam’s skin. Sam moans, his nails raking over Maxson’s hips to grip his thighs with shaking hands. He arches into his touch, panting, whimpering, gasping – and taking in nothing but smoke as it flows into his open mouth.

“ _Please,_ ” he pants, and Maxson can’t resist him. He lets their lips meet – a clash of teeth and sweep of tongue, breathless groans muffled in a press of lips and swallowed with the clinging taste of smoke.

Maxson digs his teeth into Sam’s lower lip – it’s curved and tempting and impossibly soft, and Sam’s broken moan is everything he needs. He slides his hand back into Sam’s hair, letting his nails rake over his cheek. He tastes Sam’s sharp hiss and worries at his lip until the hiss becomes a muffled cry, fists his hand in Sam’s hair until every breath is pitched high and Sam is squirming in his grip.

Sam’s hands knead the thickness of Maxson’s thighs as he lets himself be shoved down. Maxson is rough and demanding, and Sam’s eager keen is stifled by the solid girth pressed against his tongue as Maxson slams up into him. He fucks his mouth – hard and shallow, grunting every time he hits the back of Sam’s throats and forces hoarse, choking moans from him. Sam’s fingernails dig deep enough to almost draw blood, and Maxson hisses, growls, and fucks him harder. Head thrown back, fist clenched in soft red hair, thighs shuddering as he uses him roughly and loses himself in the slick spill of drool and the steady stream of gagging whimpers.

He leans forward, lets Sam feel the strength in his arm as he pushes his lips down to the base of his cock and holds him there, drooling and with his throat stretched and filled with cock. Maxson takes a shaky breath, exhaling hard as he looks over Sam’s kneeling body. He’s pulled forward on his knees, back arched and his small, taut ass displayed. Maxson takes a drag from his cigar, and as he does, the faintly glowing ash crumbles and falls. Maxson freezes, watching in slow motion as it scatters in the air and falls over Sam’s skin. Sam flinches, a shocked whimper stifled against Maxson’s shaft.

“Shit…” He lets go of Sam’s hair, falling back against the chair. Sam’s lips slide off his cock and Maxson wonders how long it’ll be, exactly, before he’s allowed this again. _Shit._ “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Don’t stop,” Sam gasps. “ _God_ – don’t fucking stop, do that again, please…”

It’s the last thing he’d expected. It’s more than he deserves and it’s exactly what he needs, and as Sam’s lips wrap around him again, it takes all his restraint not to come across his tongue there and then. He wonders if there’s a streak of cruelty in him that he’ll never shed, toes curling as Sam’s moan becomes a muffled scream as he flickers glowing embers across the scar-striped expanse of his back. He wonders if they’re both broken beyond repair, and Sam’s fingers claw at his thighs and he looks up at Maxson with drool and tears streaking his face, flinching and whimpering as another shower of burning ash falls across his shoulder. Sam pulls back to take a breath, to gasp Maxson’s name and beg for more, and as Maxson blows a choking billow of smoke across his face, he decides the answers don’t matter all that much at all.

Maxson holds the cigar between his lips, eyes stinging in the smoke and his heart pounding in his chest. He sinks both hands into Sam’s hair, holds him in place and digs his heels into the floor to thrust up into his mouth. The sounds Sam makes sink into his flesh, lighting sparks of pleasure that smoulder in his skin and set his blood burning. He’s hoarse and choking, eager cries fucked out of him with every rock of Maxson’s hips and every obscene, wet slap of his balls against Sam’s chin.

Maxson’s thighs are damp with saliva and the low light catches in the tears streaking Sam’s cheeks. The mottled red of burns decorate his skin and Maxson wants more – wants to hear Sam’s broken sobs as he grinds the smouldering tip of the cigar into his flesh – but there’s a quiet part of him that’s getting louder by the day that wants to be there to kiss every burn and every scar when the intensity has faded and the moment’s passed. He silences it with a snarl, and watches his thick shaft plunging into Sam’s mouth and crushing his full lips against his teeth.

There’s a harsher edge to Sam’s next whimper, and as Maxson pulls him back to let him breathe, he notices the way he shifts. There are folded blankets under his knees but Maxson knows it’s not enough, not always, and Sam’s hand drops to rub at the skin at the edge of his prosthetic, brow furrowing. He tries to hide it – and Maxson wishes he wouldn’t, wishes he’d trust him to care, but doesn’t know how to offer that.

Talking isn’t easy, but this is. Maxson pushes Sam down, rising to his feet with a roughened groan as he shoves Sam down onto his side. He falls hard to his right, sprawled panting on the ground as Maxson stands over him. He kneels, one hand splayed on Sam’s chest to push him onto his back and pin him under his bulk, and lowers himself until Sam’s cock is pressed into the cleft of his ass. Sam’s eyes widen and he thrusts, panting, his hands sliding up to claw at Maxson’s shoulders as his voice cracks into a shuddering groan.

“I’m not done,” Maxson says. He lets his hand slide up to lightly grasp Sam’s throat, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp. “Open your mouth.”

Sam obeys, and Maxson thumbs the swollen curve of his lower lip as he takes a deep, slow drag from the cigar. He watches Sam’s face for any sign of pain, and lets the roughness in his touch and the growl in his voice hide his concern. Let Sam think this is all he needs – the shake of his breath against the pads of his fingers, the flutter of his pulse through sweat-damp skin, pinned and submissive and eager. He doesn’t know how to ask for more, and isn’t sure he’d deserve it if he could.

He leans down and lets their lips meet, strong fingers digging into Sam’s jaw and thick thighs gripping his hips. Sam’s moan is raw and cracked with need, and Maxson can taste it in the smoke on his tongue – in the faint copper of blood when he bites Sam’s lip, in his flinch and shudder as glowing ash scatters on his neck. He groans into Sam’s mouth – and the smoke hangs on Sam’s lips, clings to his tongue, and chases his eager gasp into his throat.

They fit each other – bodies contouring, Sam’s lithe angles against Maxson’s muscled bulk. This shouldn’t be as easy as it is – and even now, with Sam’s nails raking down his back and his cock grinding against Maxson’s ass, Maxson can’t quite shake the guilt. He doesn’t know if it’s the blood on Sam’s hands or the blood on his – if he’s betraying his people or corrupting his saviour when Sam’s tongue darts into his mouth and Maxson swallows a moan. Maybe it’s both. This shouldn’t feel so _right_ – but it does.

Sam groans, and his ragged breath is thick with smoke, hot and urgent against Maxson’s lips. He’s whimpering, gasping, broken half-words murmured against Maxson’s lips as he flicks a shower of ash against Sam’s cheek and digs his teeth into his lower lip with a snarl. His cock throbs against Sam’s stomach, and he can’t wait any more. He pulls back, and brings the cigar to his lips again. There’s almost nothing left of it, burning his fingers and uncomfortably hot between his lips – but he barely feels it. Sam looks up at him through the smoke, flushed and panting, lips bruised and hair tousled. Maxson exhales slowly, and Sam breathes in everything Maxson gives him, arched and submissive and wreathed in smoke.

“Ready?” Maxson grinds the cigar out against the bare floorboards inches from Sam’s face.

“God, yeah.” Sam runs his hands up Maxson’s thighs, and Maxson shifts forward over him, straddling his heaving chest and stroking his cock lightly.

Maxson rocks forward, one hand braced on the floor, the other gripping his cock as he presses the head between Sam’s parted lips. He thrusts shallowly, smearing the slick spill of pre-come over Sam’s tongue, and feels as much as hears the muffled whine Sam gives in response. Sam’s mouth feels incredible, and the sounds Maxson drives from him are beautifully obscene – every choked, eager whimper building in the raw pleasure coiling down his spine and pooling in his gut. He fucks down into him, grunting every time he feels Sam gag around him, holding nothing back as he grabs Sam’s jaw and he rams every inch of his length into the straining, moaning man beneath him.

Sam’s nails dig into Maxson’s hips, urging him on, and he looks up through damp lashes to meet Maxson’s gaze. Tears trickle from the corners of his eyes as another rasping gag leaves him choking, jaw twitching and lips wrapped tight around Maxson’s girth. Drool is forced from the corners of his mouth with every thrust, and Maxson smears it over Sam’s jaw, saliva and tears wetting his fingertips. Sam’s tongue works his shaft, and his teeth graze Maxson’s flesh as he drives himself deeper.

Raw sensations build beyond what Maxson can resist – the desperate, muffled cries, the slick heat and the intoxicating sight of Sam utterly wrecked and eager for more – it’s too much, too good, and Maxson’s final, shuddering groan is almost a roar. His cock pulses between Sam’s lips, his hips jerk, and his nails rake down Sam’s cheek leaving vivid red in their wake. He spills over Sam’s tongue – thick, hot come coating his length as he thrusts shallowly, groaning at the sight of his seed overflowing Sam’s swollen lips and trickling down his chin. Maxson’s breaths are hoarse and shaken, muscular thighs trembling, his body slumping forward as he rides out his climax against the sweep and flick of Sam’s skilled tongue.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he gasps.

Sam moans in response, and Maxson’s fingertips catch the sticky trail running down his jawline. He rocks back onto his knees, letting his thick cock slip free of Sam’s mouth, and Sam smirks, tracing the outline of his lips with the tip of his tongue. Maxson’s thumb follows, trailing over the indents of teeth, smearing come and drool over bruised skin. Fuck denial – Sam’s gorgeous like this, and Maxson allows himself a brief, pleasure-fogged moment of affection as his fingertips follow the curve of Sam’s grin.

“Look at that.” Sam nips at the pad of his thumb. “You came so hard you forgot to frown.”

“Shut up.”

Maxson flops down next to him, not caring that the floor is hard and no doubt driving splinters into his bare skin. His pulse is thunder in his ears and he’s drenched in sweat, hair falling forward and clinging to his damp forehead. Sam presses up against him, and Maxson hears the urgent shudder in his breath as he hooks one leg over Maxson’s thigh.

“Don’t you _dare_ roll over and fall asleep after that,” Sam groans. He drapes himself over Maxson’s chest, pushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand while the other traces the contours of Maxson’s shoulder. Maxson grins lazily and tenses the thigh Sam’s straddling, watching his face – Sam’s as predictable as ever, and feeling the thick muscle harden under him is enough to leave him gasping.

“Me?” Maxson runs his hand down Sam’s spine, and Sam bucks against him, groaning under his breath. “Not a chance.”

Maxson’s fingertips slide lower, dipping into the cleft of Sam’s ass, and _that_ earns him a whimper. Sam kisses him urgently, messily, and Maxson can’t hold back his own sharp keen as he tastes the sticky, heated spill of his own come on Sam’s tongue. He fists his free hand in Sam’s hair, and locks him in place, groaning into his mouth as his fingertips find Sam’s entrance and knead lightly at the tight ring of muscle.

Sam doesn’t need much – his breaths are shallow and gasping, every shaky whimper pitching higher. His cock is slick with pre-come, and his thrusts against Maxson’s thigh are sharp and urgent, a stuttering rhythm breaking down into helpless jerks of his hips when Maxson flexes his thigh and presses up against him.

“F-fuck…” Sam pants into his mouth, and Maxson nips at his jaw with a growl before kissing him again – harder, deeper, swallowing every needy gasp. Sam clings to him, hands clawing at the broad expanse of chest beneath him, keening into Maxson’s mouth as his teeth catch his full lower lip and his body arches, tense and shuddering, and Maxson feels the hot spill of his come streak and smear over his thigh.

Sam collapses against his chest with a final broken moan, face buried against his neck, and for a long moment they’re both silent, and as peaceful as either of them know how to be. Sam’s breathing slows, and Maxson runs his fingers over the curve of his ass and up his side, feeling the rise and fall of old scars and trying not to think about how familiar this is getting, and how intimate it feels.

If he’s honest with himself, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this could change him, could change _everything_ – that he can let Sam fix everything the Brotherhood fucked up, and he can be someone else. If he’s more honest, he knows redemption’s out of reach. Sam might have spared him, but he can’t save him. He threads his fingers through Sam’s hair, watching the light catch on the vivid red strands and the last of the smoke curling in the air. He doesn’t know what this is, or where it’s going – but Sam hasn’t pulled away yet. Maxson’s as free as he knows how to be, with Sam sprawled across his chest, and the scent of smoke and sweat and sex heavy in the air. He doesn’t need all the answers – he has enough.


End file.
